Elizabeth’s teasing demeanor vanished. “Alice?”
That had struck. Finally, something got through.
He pressed the advantage. “She left without her belongings. Without a word. The household is calling it an elopement, but no one believes it.”
Elizabeth’s hands clenched in her shawl, her lips parting, then pressing together again.
Good. She should be afraid. She should understand.
But instead, she lifted her chin. “You do notknowthat Alice was taken.”
“And you do not know that she was not!”
A standoff.
The soft sounds of birdsong. Jane Bennet’s easy footfalls ahead of them. The distant murmur of wind through the hedgerows.
Darcy could hear none of it. His blood thundered in his ears, his vision too sharp, his breath too controlled. “Do you not appreciate how unwise it is for you to vanish into the fields alone?” he hissed.
“I was not alone,” Elizabeth said at last, her voice stubborn, defensive.
Darcy’s hands curled into fists. “Jane Bennet is not a bodyguard.”
“And you are not my gaoler.”
A sharp breath left him, but he refused to rise to the bait.
No. He was not her gaoler.
But hang it all, he wasresponsiblefor her. He had been charged with her safety, her life, and he had spent half the morning convinced she had been stolen from beneath his nose.
Elizabeth sighed, shaking her head. “We are here. We are well. Surely that is what matters?”
Darcy’s throat burned. He forced his jaw to unclench, his hands to relax at his sides. “We must return,” he said stiffly. “Now.”
Elizabeth studied his face, as if weighing whether to argue further.
But then Jane Bennet turned back, calling for them to hurry along, and Elizabeth sighed, sending him one last pointed look before falling into step beside him.
Darcy said nothing else.
His hands were still shaking.
Chapter Seventeen
Netherfield’sdrivestretchedbeforehim, dappled with late afternoon sunlight. He did not slow his pace. The needling sense of unease still gripped him, though he knew—knewthis time—Elizabeth was perfectly safe at Longbourn. He had seen her safely inside and strictly charged Mr. Bennet to send him a message if she should do so much as sneeze without prior arrangement.
And yet…
Bingley’s familiar drawl met him the moment he stepped through the doors. “Ah! I never know when to expect you these days, old man, so I simply keep a room waiting. Should I have the staff place a plaque outside? Mr. Darcy’s Mysterious and Inconveniently Timed Retreats?”
Darcy exhaled, dragging off his gloves. “Amusing as ever, Bingley.”
Bingley grinned, unperturbed. “You wound me. I am perfectly serious.” He tilted his head, eyes bright with curiosity. “You are a creature of habit, Darcy, and yet lately, I have no notion of where you are or what you are doing. Do tell me, do you have a secret lover? A hidden smuggling operation? An undisclosed duchy you have yet to claim?”
Miss Bingley, reclining elegantly in a nearby chair, suddenly looked more interested in the conversation.
Darcy rolled his shoulders and gave Bingley a dry look. “No to all three.”
